


White Feathers

by amidtheflowers



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Found Family, Gift Fic, Hopper needs a break, Joyce is a badass, lots of emotions, more like guessing what canon might bring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27929251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amidtheflowers/pseuds/amidtheflowers
Summary: End of S3, headcanon of S4. Joyce hears voices beyond the Gate once it's closed. Somehow she's now the proud mom of five teenagers. And Hopper? He's gonna kill whoever shaved his damn head.
Relationships: Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	White Feathers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnnieMar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieMar/gifts).



> Hello! This fic is for my dear friend Annie whose birthday is today. She is a huge fan of Jopper, and last year she talked about really wanting more fic for that fandom, so here I am! Sorry it took so damn long x
> 
> This is a two-part fic with a planned sequel oneshot. All mistakes are my own ;) If you see any continuity errors I am preemptively sorry and I blame 2020 
> 
> Enjoy! xx

**White Feathers**

**-:-**

**Ch. 1: The Door**

**-:-**

This was not how it was supposed to be.

Not this time. Joyce had been ready. _Ready,_ goddamn it—she’d been clever, and quick, and loud and brave, and it was not supposed to end in screaming this time. Will was okay, Jonathan was okay, her kids were _okay_ and her ex-husband had fucked off for good—and this was not how it was supposed to be.

He was looking right at her, her arms stretched in either direction to turn the key switches. The nightmare gate key machine from hell was erupting chaos where Hopper stood. He couldn’t leave; their window to end this was happening now.

 _Do it_. The words were clear in his eyes. In the soft way he looked at her. _I know. Do it anyway._

Gritting her teeth, she did just that.

A blast of light and explosion later, she watches bodies disintegrate. Hopper disappeared in the yawning light.

She knew right away they won. The gate was closed and the violent sounds had stopped. She stood staring at the empty chamber until her feet moved on their own, moving past the glass partition and entering the chamber where the defunct key stood. She stared at the ugly, throbbing scar in the wall. The gate had sealed itself up with only a small golden thread of light remaining.

Voices ricocheted around her. Dr. Owens. He was somehow here. And he was saying something to her, his face filling her line of sight. Saying something she couldn’t understand. Hands were pulling her away again when she heard it.

Joyce’s heart skipped. “Stop!”

She ripped out of his grasp and ran to the ledge, where a bottomless beyond lay below and the closed gate stretched ahead. She strained herself to listen.

“—need to stay away from there, Joyce,” Owens said sharply. “Joyce, please!”

Ignoring him, she moved closer. Hesitantly, her hand stretched toward the seam.

“ _Joyce_ —”

“ _Shh!_ ” Joyce snapped. Owens fell silent, perplexed. She edged closer, as far as she could without falling. 

There, she heard it again.

“People—there’s people in here!” Joyce frantically leaned in but it was unmistakable; beneath the gnarled groans and shrieks of what lay beyond the gate was the distinct sound of voices, so many voices, all terrified and very much alive. “Owens, there’re people trapped in here, you have to— _help_ , you have to _do_ something. Listen, just listen to it!”

Joyce was ripped away from the gate seam by two officers and Dr. Owens stared down at her with a pitying look. “Joyce.”

“I heard them. There are people in there,” said Joyce emphatically. “I’ve heard it before. He—he could be _in_ there. Don’t you look at me like I’m crazy.”

Dr. Owens looked at Joyce with a sad shake of his head. “We can’t open it again, Joyce. He’s gone.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “You have to let this go.”

Joyce squeezed her eyes shut, lower lip trembling.

His smile when he looked at her. The understanding in his eyes. A flash of blinding light.

Gentle hands led her out of the room and outside, down a hall, into the open atrium of the mall, and this time she did not resist. A lump was forming in her throat, and she blinked several times. When her vision cleared, her eyes landed on a figure lying in a pool of blood on the floor.

Curious, Joyce walked toward it. It was a kid Jonathan’s age, blood and black liquid smeared on his face, matting his hair… and multiple lacerations speckled his body like pins in a cushion.

Owens was trying to talk to her again. Joyce focused her attention on the little crowd formed around the body on the floor: El, Lucas, Will, Jonathan, Nancy, Mike, Dustin, Steve, and a few faces she didn’t recognize. Joyce did recognize Max, one of the new friends to Will’s group. She was knelt down on the floor beside the unmoving body of a teenage boy reminding Joyce too much of her own, her head buried in his chest, shoulders shaking.

Joyce stopped next to her. Max lifted her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. She croaked out, “Mrs. Byers.”

Joyce knelt down. She brushed the hair from the boy’s forehead, pressing her fingers there, then to his neck. Frowning, Joyce leaned over and pressed her ear to his bloodied chest.

The others watched, stunned, as Joyce shot back up with fire blazing in her eyes, pinning Owens with a determined look. She pointed sharply at the body. “This boy is alive. Barely. I don’t care how you do it, I don’t care what it takes—you are saving his goddamn life. You hear me? You are saving. This. Boy.”

Dr. Owens gaped at first. Then, with a snap in his voice, he ordered several men to pick up the prone body on the floor and rush him out of the mall. The rippling sound of helicopters roared around them. Max’s sniffling paused, staring up at Joyce with a thread of hope.

**-:-**

This was not how it was supposed to be, and Hopper didn’t like it.

He’d done a lot of bad shit in his life. Drank too much. Ate questionable things that sat in the fridge too long. Showered when he felt like. It was pretty grim for a while. But somewhere along the way, it started getting better. Started feeling whole again.

He knew, when he looked at Joyce in those final seconds, that it was the end of the line for him. He was moments away from biting the dust, finally. Funny thing was he just didn’t…care. Not in the sense of fear, or regret, or whatever the hell he’d expected. In that moment with Joyce’s terrified eyes connecting to his, Hopper only felt intense relief.

El, his beautiful daughter El, was safe. Somehow to his core he knew that, and he knew he had done everything in his power to make sure of it. It was the only thing he wanted, and knowing that somewhere in Hawkins, Indiana El was fine—and would _be_ fine once they finished this—left him with a warm sense of peace.

Then everything exploded.

White, pure, burning energy blasted his final thought away and cast him in darkness.

He would see Sarah again.

.

.

Only…

…Only…

Only, was he hearing things? He couldn’t be. He was. Warbled sounds, like ripples through water. Still couldn’t see. Death was kind of not what he was expecting—and it sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be this sticky.

His ears had gone to shit, the explosion still ringing in them, but his other senses started firing. He was in some kind of guck; a sticky, formless _something_ that clung wetly to his skin and clothes. Blinking rapidly, Hopper’s sight settled onto the bleak surroundings that…fuck.

Grunting, Hopper pushed himself upright and slime dripped down his body in thick ropes. “No,” he rasped, looking crazed and stumbling over a tendon-like vine on the ground. “No. I’m dead. I _have_ to be dead. Fuck!”

Light was coming from somewhere ahead. Hopper squinted at it. Slowly, the ringing in his ears cleared, until he could hear faint, distant shouting.

“ _Hopper!_ ”

He froze. The shout came again. Hopper stumbled toward it blindly, hand scrambling against a mordant facsimile of a tree. He knew that voice, but didn’t dare believe it. “…Joyce?”

“ _HOPPER!_ ”

“Joyce!” Hopper shouted, running in earnest. The light was growing, and then he saw it—the seam of the gate, sealed closed. Whispers and wails of the Upside Down echoed around him and through it he heard her—he heard Joyce shouting for him.

Hopper nearly ran into the wall where the seam was, pressing his hands flat against it. “Oh god,” he said hoarsely. It was too late. “Shit. Shitshitshitshit.”

Joyce’s voice faded. The clamminess of the wall grew until Hopper had to step back, and with it all the wretched noises surrounding him rushed to the forefront.

Slowly, Hopper turned around. He glanced down at himself and noted he was still covered in Upside Down shit.

This was not how it was supposed to be.

Up ahead, something in the shadows was moving steadily toward him. “Motherfucker,” said Hopper grimly.

**-:-**

Somewhere in Hawkins in a medical facility, Billy Hargrove started waking in bits and pieces.

This was sure as shit not how it was supposed to be. Billy was almost certainly dead, except he kept seeing flashes of his little sister’s face.

“Max?” he managed to say, in a voice he didn’t recognize. His throat felt like sheets of metal grinding against each other. And bright blue eyes peered down at him, just as darkness bled away his consciousness.

When he came to again, the notion that he was dead vanished. Death wasn’t supposed to hurt this much, and Billy could hardly move a finger without splitting pain. He was in a dimly lit room with monitors beeping around him, wires and needles attached to him like he was some kind of goddamn marionette.

A small gasp came from his side. Blue eyes and flaming red hair shocked his sight again—it was Max. Max was here.

“Hey,” she said, her voice soft and eager. “You’re awake. For real his time.”

“Yeah.” The word came out more of a croak than an actual word. His lips moved to speak again, but only a ragged sound wheezed out.

Max shook her head, pushing his hair back. She never did that. “Long story, but you’re okay now. You’re gonna be okay.” Her eyes darted down, then with a reflexive movement she grabbed his hand. Something unfurled in his chest when he felt her squeeze gently.

“Max…” Shit. A lump formed in his throat. He blinked, vision blurring, and the hazy mist of confusion gave way to memories—memories of things he’d done, what his body was forced to do as he watched in the back seat of his consciousness. He saw her terrified eyes as Billy strode forward and lifted his arm and… “I hit you.” A strangled sound came from his throat and his body convulsed, ribs straining. “I tried to…I tried—”

Max pushed Billy’s shoulders back against the mattress. “Hey, hey it’s okay, alright? Don’t—you don’t have to be upset about that. It wasn’t you.” Max stared at Billy anxiously. “You’re still healing, Billy. Please don’t hurt yourself.”

Billy forced himself still. His muscles kept trembling, and the fog of sleep whispered closely. He looked at his sister.

“Maxine,” said Billy, wretchedly. Stupid fuck that he was. “Sorry.”

He drifted out of consciousness again.

**-:-**

The first thing Joyce did, once Billy was out of surgery and in the rehabilitation unit, was call her agent to cancel selling her home. There was no way she’d leave now. Not with everything happening—and taking three kids she was responsible for away from their life and friends just didn’t sit well. And Joyce had a _lot_ to do in Hawkins yet.

Just when the early morning light was slipping through the curtains of the Byers’ house, Joyce poked her head in Jonathan’s bedroom. “You got Will?”

Jonathan nodded and blearily rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll watch him. Go do your thing.”

“Have I told you what a great kid you are? You’re pretty fantastic.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jonathan rolled his eyes, hiding his smile.

Joyce found El where she’d left her last night; tucked away on the pullout sofa, knees to her chest. Joyce smiled. “Mind if I sit?”

El shook her head. Joyce sat close to El and said, “I think it’s time to get the rest of your things from Hopper’s place.”

El nodded. “Okay,” she said in that soft way she always did. But something was troubling her; Joyce could tell from the curious way her brow furrowed.

“What is it?” Joyce asked.

El looked at her, blinking. “Is this…goodbye?”

Joyce frowned. “In what way?”

“Going to get…stuff. From Hopper’s cabin. The note he left me. Is this goodbye?”

Joyce paused. “I don’t know if he’s coming back,” Joyce answered honestly. “I’m not sure what the right answer is. But right now…we have to keep going forward. And that means getting your things here.”

El absorbed this quietly, looking thoughtful. Then, she nodded.

Joyce smiled. “Let’s get going before the boys wake up.”

Ten minutes later, Joyce glanced away from the road to look at the girl sitting beside her. El was extraordinarily quiet, unnervingly so, but lucky for Joyce she was used to that. Jonathan and Will were sweet, gentle boys, and quiet about their feelings. But when the time came, they always trusted their feelings with her. She was their mom and a goddamn good one. She made sure they’d never feel anything other than heard and accepted if they expressed themselves.

Joyce got the impression El didn’t necessarily understand how to express herself. At least, she was on a slow, upward hill. Too much had happened in the last few years that no child should ever have to live through. And now Joyce was taking El to her adopted father’s home, who was most likely—

Joyce stopped the thought where it started. She wouldn’t say it.

“Pretty,” said El. Joyce glanced at her. She was staring intently at the early dawn horizon.

“It is,” Joyce agreed. “It’s always beautiful in the early mornings. Everything’s still quiet.”

El smiled warmly. Joyce’s heart clenched a bit as she pulled into Hopper’s driveway.

The kids weren’t exaggerating; the cabin was trashed. The Mind Flayer had dealt Hopper’s cabin a dying blow; there were too many holes and smashed walls and windows to attempt salvaging it.

El didn’t rush out of the car or bolt toward the cabin. She slipped quietly out of the car and waited for Joyce to meet her halfway, before they both turned toward the cabin and strode inside.

Joyce glanced at the shed a few paces away. Was it just a few days ago she’d marched in there, grabbed a shotgun and shells, and declared she was going to investigate Hawkins Labs? And Hopper, jumping on one foot as he struggled to put on his boots, shouting for her to wait. God, he’d been such an ass, though _maybe_ with a good reason that time. It made Joyce smile.

When Joyce opened the door, she turned to El. “Follow where I step and be careful.” El nodded dutifully.

It took them only a few minutes to pack up El’s things and put it in the Ford Pinto. El did not say a thing through all of it. She paused outside the front door as they were leaving, staring up at the cabin. Joyce’s heart clenched again.

With a determined look, Joyce closed the trunk and marched up to El. “I’ve got an idea. You tell me if you’re interested.” El looked up at Joyce curiously. “Jonathan’s got a good handle on breakfast so the boys will be fine at home. Whattaya say you and I go to the diner for breakfast?” El thought on this, looking somewhat conflicted. “They have all-you-can-eat waffles,” Joyce tempted waggling an eyebrow.

El’s eyes lit up.

The diner was empty except for Carl Bolton on the bar stool, nursing a coffee and holding his head up with one hand. Damn Carl and his hangovers. She said as much to El, who hid a smile behind her hand as they sat down in a booth. Once their orders were taken, Joyce turned her attention on El.

“I got a call from Billy’s doctor last night,” said Joyce. “They’re thinking he can be released next week. His vitals are looking good. He just won’t be walking around a lot for a while.”

“That’s good,” El replied. “Not the walking around part, I mean. Where will he go?”

“Home,” said Joyce.

“Ours?”

“No, no, his home. He’s got a family too, remember?”

El nodded. “Max.”

“Yep, Max. And his parents.”

Joyce couldn’t read El’s expression. After several minutes, El looked up at Joyce, her face set. “Billy shouldn’t go home. It is…bad.”

Joyce frowned. “Bad how?”

El stared. “ _Bad_.”

El went silent. Joyce chewed on her lip, fingers drumming on her knee. “How do you know?”

El shifted. “I just know. And Max. She tells me things.”

Joyce paused. “And what about Max? She lives there.”

A long pause. Then, “I don’t think she should either.”

“Shit. Sorry,” said Joyce hastily, but El only shrugged. Joyce ran a hand through her hair. “How bad are we talking here? Do I need to start making calls?”

Alarm briefly flitted across El’s face, but just as quickly it faded. “No,” she said finally. “Not yet.”

 _Not yet_. Joyce’s worry increased. She hardly noticed when the waitress set a stack of pancakes in front of her. How many kids was Joyce going to start housing? And this, with Max…this was something else altogether. This would be a legal issue that Joyce knew wouldn’t be an easy win.

El dug into her waffles as Joyce took an anxious sip of her coffee.

-:-

Jim Hopper was thoroughly unimpressed with the Russian prison system. Especially the kind that fed people to a Demogorgon.

He was fucking sick of the Demogorgon.

It was fine, though. He was biding time. Quiet. Watching. Pissing where they told him to piss. Fighting when they told him to fight. They didn’t bring him to the Demogorgon yet, but Hopper was there when they found it—had been in the middle of wrestling said Demogorgon when the soldiers found him—so he knew what exactly these bastards were doing when they dragged screaming men to a secret room.

Weeks had passed. Months, maybe—there wasn’t any light in his room so he lost track sometimes. His only indication was the shadows of feet by the door when the guard shifts switched. In the stretch of time, though, Hopper had plenty time to think.

And think he did.

It led to where he was now—beating the shit out of a guard in the prison yard with the butt end of a pickaxe they’d given him to break rocks. Maybe he didn’t need to go for the nose like he had, but damn it Hopper was angry and cold and they’d shaved his fucking head.

Four hands tore Hopper from the bleeding guard and ripped the pickaxe from his hands. Two punches to the head knocked him flat. A kick in his teeth split his lip, and Hopper started to laugh as they dragged him inside. They were angry—oh yes, so angry, just the right amount of angry too, because he’d gone after one of their own with a pickaxe. None of the other stunts worked but this—this was enough to do him in.

They didn’t hesitate when they bypassed his cell and dragged him down an endless set of stairs. The air grew thicker, the stench of rot and piss making him grimace. Suddenly they stopped, pulling him upright long enough for one of the guards to unlock a cage door. With a vicious string of curses he didn’t understand, they shoved him inside.

Hopper stumbled as the door slammed behind him, locked and sealed. A dim lightbulb flickered outside and he turned to see the guards watching behind the cage. One of the men moved to left of the cage and began cranking a wheel.

Hopper’s gaze snapped to the little door now opening from the solid wall before him. “Yes,” he breathed, readying himself. He cracked his knuckles, flexing his fingers. “Come on, you little asshole. Come on.”

A shadow moved from inside the hole in the wall. The wheel stopped churning. The guards outside spoke in hushed voices, waiting.

The shadow grew, and Hopper wrung out his arms in anticipation as the Demogorgon emerged. “As ugly as I remember,” said Hopper, his lip curling in disgust. “Come on, Ugly. Remember me? Eat your damn heart out.”

The Demogorgon opened its flaps and let out an unholy scream that shook the cage walls. Hopper roared back, uncaring that Demogorgon spit was flying on his face, and launched himself at it.

Distantly he heard the guards gasp. Hopper wrapped himself around the Demogorgon from behind and bashed its head over and over with his fist. “Come on, you little shit. I’ve seen what you can do. Time—to—open—a—goddamn— _DOOR!_ ” Hopper yelled as the Demogorgon shrieked, flailing.

**-:-**

Billy was discharged roughly three months and fourteen days after he was admitted.

It didn’t take much prying from Max to figure he’d been holed up in some top secret government facility where they’d patched him up and brought him back from the dead. And a helluva job they did—the scars from getting shish-kabobbed weren’t half bad.

When the door to his room opened Billy was pulling on his socks. “Hey Max,” he said, not looking up. “I’m almost…” he looked up and froze. Joyce Byers was standing behind Max. “Done. Hello.”

Joyce smiled as Maxine barreled into him, two skinny arms around his neck. “Looking good, Billy. You’re almost as ugly as you used to be.”

“Hilarious,” said Billy, but still wrapped a loose arm around her. The hugging was a new thing they were trying out—but Max seemed to think dying for her and her friends was worth trying the sibling thing again, and Billy wasn’t about to complain.

“Hi Billy.” Joyce stepped closer and held out her hand. “I’m Joyce Byers, Jonathan’s mom.”

Billy shook her hand. “Hey Mrs. Byers. Max tells me you saved my life.”

A wry smile flashed across her face and she laughed, embarrassed. “I didn’t do much. I just caught your pulse. The doctors did all the work.”

“Yeah…” Billy looked around the room dubiously. “They’re really something, aren’t they.”

Joyce looked over him. “And you’re doing okay now?”

“Yeah, I’ll live.”

Almost reflexively, Joyce made a soft sound and patted his cheek. Billy stilled at the touch, eyeing her hand, following it up to her face. An open warmth stared back at him, and Billy swallowed thickly, looking away. Joyce moved her hand to pat his shoulder. “I’m here to take you to your house. If you’re done here, we should probably go. It’s getting colder out.”

Billy cast a questioning look at Max as they followed Joyce out of the facility and to her car. Max shrugged and followed ahead. She offered directions but Joyce waved them off, claiming she knew Hawkins like the back of her hand and only needed the street and house number. The drive was met with silence, broken only by Joyce rolling down the window to blow out her cigarette smoke and the song on the radio, shed with static.

“This here?” Joyce asked.

“Yeah,” said Max. Joyce pulled in to the curb and surprised them by shutting off the car. “Let’s get you kids inside.”

Billy glanced at Max, whose eyes had gone round. “Uh, Mrs. Byers…” Joyce looked at him expectantly. “You don’t have to walk us in. We can go from here.”

“Don’t be silly. I just brought their nineteen-year-old kid home who’s been gone for almost four months; of course I have to walk you in.”

Joyce was out of the car before Billy or Max could get another word in.

Billy had long stopped feeling dread walking to his house knowing his dad was inside waiting for him, but he couldn’t shake the twinge of nerves. Nearly four months. What would the old man say this time?

Billy snorted. Couldn’t be much worse than being possessed all summer by a fucking demon from a shadow dimension.

Joyce waited for Max and Billy to catch up before knocking on the door. Max drew out her house key and made quick work of the door, hands shaking. Billy frowned.

Max pushed the door open. “We’re home!” She strode inside and moved through the living room as Billy and Joyce walked through. Billy’s frown deepened at the disarray around him, things tossed around and empty food containers stacked on the coffee table. Dad would have flipped the fuck out if he’d seen these.

Joyce glanced around the house, her expression carefully closed. Max reappeared in front of them, shrugging with a smile. “Looks like they’re out. Thanks anyway, Mrs. Byers. I can show you to the door.”

Max walked toward the door but Joyce didn’t move. She looked around again with a deepset frown. Gesturing at nothing, Joyce said, “Have you been living here by yourself?”

Max’s eyes widened. “No,” she said, forcing a scowl and shaking her head. “That’s crazy. Of course not.”

“Maxine.” Billy moved toward her, glaring. “I know that face. You’re _lying_.”

“I was going to tell once she left!”

“Max, what the h—?”

“So it’s true? You’ve been living by yourself?” Joyce repeated.

Max bit her lip. A second later she resigned with a roll of her eyes. “Mom took off after a fight with Billy’s dad and he went after her. Or not, I don’t really know. He said he was going for beer. But he packed some things and they haven’t been back since.”

“How long?” said Billy quietly.

Max shifted uncomfortably, muttering something under her breath.

“Louder, please,” said Joyce firmly.

“Since a week after you were hospitalized,” Max admitted, not meeting their eyes.

Joyce gaped. “Max, why didn’t you say anything? You can’t just live by yourself!”

“I couldn’t, okay? You have enough going on, I couldn’t—and I didn’t want to make a thing of it in case mom and Billy’s dad came back. But when they didn’t…I dunno, I figured once Billy was out of the hospital we’d figure out something.”

Something tugged in Billy’s chest. “You could’ve told me sooner,” he said quietly.

Max’s eyes flashed fiercely. “Not until you were better.”

Joyce rubbed her temples tiredly, eyes closed. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, back to the car, both of you. We’re going to my house.”

Billy inwardly bristled. “All due respect, ma’am—”

“All due respect, Billy, you’re out of a summer job with what I suspect is four months of overdue bills and,” Joyce flicked at an empty takeout container, “no food. You can do the macho routine tomorrow but right now, just get in the damn car.”

Billy blinked several times, stunned. “Yes, ma’am.”

**-:-**

El sat in the Byers living room with Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and Will crammed together on the sofa and Jonathan, Nancy, and Steve lounging on the floor. Jonathan had put together a plate of nachos and salsa that Mike was hogging for himself, with Dusting complaining loudly that it was like kiddie camp all over again, whatever that was.

The hole in her chest was slowly closing, but moments like these made it go by faster. She didn’t understand half of what they were talking about but just the nearness, the little broken people she’d glued herself to, felt closer and closer to family.

The front door opened and Max and Joyce stepped inside whisking off their winter coats and scarves. “Jonathan, honey, could you turn up the thermostat? It’s like an icebox in here.”

“Sure, Mom.”

El’s eyes widened when Billy stepped through the door behind them. He looked around awkwardly, unzipping his coat and shrugging out of it. El unfurled from the recliner and walked quietly, stopping in front of him. Billy’s gaze connected with hers and he visibly startled.

He swallowed convulsively, his gaze flickering over her rapidly before his expression shuttered. “You,” he said, his voice low, “were supposed to go when I said go.”

El blinked, and Billy’s voice was ringing in her ears now— _“GO!” Billy screamed, not looking at her as he held on to the Mind Flayer’s limb, keeping it from reaching her, “GO!”—_ and she could see he was remembering too. Touching his face, that his mother was pretty. Wordlessly, El wrapped her arms around him.

She felt Billy bend a little as he held her back. The stiffness in his limbs loosened, and she heard him whisper, “Sorry for choking the shit out of you.”

El let out a soft laugh. “Sorry for throwing you through a brick wall.”

Billy pulled away with a wry look. “Yeah, that one hurt for days. Pissed off the piece of shit like hell.”

“Good.”

“Oh hey, Billy.” El turned to see Steve standing behind her, chewing a mouthful of corn chips and salsa. “You’re not dead? Welcome to the club, man.”

El watched Billy’s face transform into a smirk, his posture relaxing. “Well, if it isn’t Pretty Boy.”

**-:-**

“This is nuts,” Steve said for the fiftieth time. “Listen, I have a whole mansion loaded with food and shit. Anyone’s welcome to crash there if they need. Hell, stay as long as you want—not like my parents are ever home anyway.”

“God, you too?” Joyce looked ready to pass out from stress. It morphed into indignation. “What the hell is with this town and shit parenting? Though, knowing your parents,” Joyce shrugged in a knowingly helpless way.

“Eh,” Steve shrugged.

“I got it,” Will said suddenly. “We grab Max’s bed and put it in my room so El and Max sleep in there. I’ll sleep in Jonathan’s room, and Billy gets the couch. Or basement!”

“Look, all of this is temporary,” Billy snapped. “I’m over eighteen. I’ll get hold of a job and move me and Max into a flat somewhere and get out of your damn hair.”

“For the millionth time, no shit,” Steve rolled his eyes. “What’s gonna happen to your house, though?”

“It’s a rental,” Max supplied with a shrug. “My guess is, when the lease expires all our stuff is getting tossed anyway.”

Joyce pursed her lip. “Not if I can help it. Will’s idea checks out. And we should move your things to a storage and sell the rest. That is, before I talk to someone about your parents running off.”

“But won’t someone come for Max?” Dustin said anxiously. “I saw this on T.V. once. Max’ll be in custody of the state.”

“Oh honey, this is Hawkins,” Joyce said distractedly, taking another drag of her cigarette, not noticing Max worriedly move closer to Billy. “All you need is the right people to talk to, and I know people. Max’ll be fine.”

True to her word, no Hawkins authority tried taking Max away. By week’s end they managed to empty out the Hargrove house, putting most of it in storage while Billy and Max shoved their things in a few boxes and brought them into Joyce’s house. Shortly after that, Billy landed a job as a dishwasher at _Enzo’s_ —and Joyce had to practically shove Billy away when he tried paying her rent.

“ _No_.”

“You’re not listening,” Billy retorted, expression hardening.

“I heard you just fine,” Joyce frowned, checking the mirror a final time before grabbing her keys. “You’re not paying me a dime. You need to save up, not throw away your salary on me.”

Billy tensed, anger ticking his jaw. “I’m not a fucking _charity case_.”

Joyce paused, turning to him. “No. You’re a kid living with me. That makes you one of _my_ kids that I look after. Why do you think Jonathan’s saving his money?” Billy made an irritated sound and rolled his eyes. Joyce’s expression hardened. “I’ve been where you have, Billy. I was the cool chick in a beat up Cadillac with a shit family, too cool for prom and bussing tables to get through night school. I didn’t have anyone to help me—but I sure as hell will help anyone living under my roof. I’m not pressed for cash so just _save your damn money!_ ”

That had been the end of that.

The atmosphere in the house shifted as the weeks wore on. Will’s room was now a constant source of giggling from Max and El; Jonathan and Will were practically glued to the hip once Jonathan came home from work, and Billy didn’t seem to know what to do with five people in a house who weren’t making his life a living hell.

Max and Billy’s parents never showed.

Joyce found herself looking at the small army of children she now considered her own at the dinner table: Jonathan and Billy arguing over music, with Will kindly interjecting between them and silencing their argument; Max and El pouring over a comic book as they shoved mashed potatoes in their mouths; Mike or Dustin or Lucas, or all three, cramming in together at the table talking about things she could hardly make heads or tails of, and Joyce felt a familiar ache in her chest. 

When the dust finally settled and routine was established in the Byers home, Mike started stopping by to see El. He was sweet as he’d always been with Joyce, and the two of them didn’t pull any smug antics like Hopper had shared with her. But…

“I swear, Mrs. Byers, the draft closed the door,” said Mike, eyes wide earnestly.

“Sweetheart, I was born at night but not last night,” Joyce said, expression wry. “Look, I’ve got a full house of kids and that means we follow house rules. This stays open,” Joyce patted the door, “or Mike has to go.”

“Sorry,” said El quickly. “We’ll make sure it stays open.”

“Thank you,” Joyce smiled. She made to leave but Billy appeared by the doorjamb, looking unimpressed. “Wheeler. Your mom’s on the phone. She wants you home for dinner.”

Mike deflated. “Ugh. Can you tell her—”

“Do I look,” said Billy evenly, “like telephone service?”

Mike’s mouth snapped shut and he darted out the room.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Joyce said, impressed.

“It’s all about the tone, Mrs. Byers.”

**-:-**

Two days before it happens, Joyce found El locked in the bathroom.

“She won’t come out,” Jonathan said, trying not to sound exasperated. “I need to shower, Mom, or I’ll be late tomorrow morning.”

Joyce’s knuckles lightly rapped on the bathroom door. “El, honey? Is everything okay?”

Silence.

Max peered in behind Jonathan, curious. “What’s going on?”

“El won’t come out,” Jonathon replied.

Max stepped forward and knocked on the door. “El, it’s Max. Did Mike do something?”

A soft sniffle. “No.”

“We can talk about it if you come out,” Max suggested.

“No.”

Joyce glanced at the door and knocked again. “You can stay in there, El. But can I come in?”

A long pause. The door cracked open, and Joyce quickly slid through, locking the door behind her.

El was curled up on the floor, little wads of toilet paper stained in blood surrounding her and her cheeks wet with tears. “Oh El,” Joyce said softly, kneeling beside her. “What brought this on?”

El wiped the blood trickling from her nose, sniffling. “Just wanted to try and find him.”

Joyce did not need to ask who. Swallowing hard, Joyce settled down comfortably and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Did you?”

El shook her head. “Doesn’t work. I can’t…do it anymore.”

Joyce held a sigh. She wrapped an arm around El, squeezing a little. “It bothers you a lot, huh.”

El nodded. “Found this in my stuff,” she held out a crumpled note in her hand. Joyce caught sight of Hopper’s handwriting through the folds. “So much has been happening. I forgot about it.”

It clicked in Joyce’s head, and her chest tightened. “So you had to try and find him again.” El nodded rapidly, eyes squeezing shut. “El…”

“I don’t want to forget him.”

“You won’t, El. Trust me on this one. He’ll be with you—with all of us—forever. It’s a hurt that doesn’t go away. But that doesn’t mean you beat yourself up when you start moving on, okay?”

“But I don’t _want_ to move on,” said El forcefully. “You said you heard voices beyond the gate. He could be alive. I need my powers.”

“And if you find him? You’ll open the gate again?”

El froze, thinking rapidly. “I’ll do it quickly. Just enough to get him.”

“A second is all it takes,” Joyce replied, eyes firm. “Hopper and I _and_ your friends and _you_ went through hell to keep those things out. He sacrificed himself to make sure that gate stayed closed. Do you think he’ll be happy if he finds out you risked destroying that for him?”

El stared back defiantly. “I could do it.”

“Half this town is dead because of that gate. Will’s class size went from twenty-two to twelve. That _thing_ took Billy’s mind and body and left him for dead.”

Tears welled up in El’s eyes as she stared at Joyce, anger and pain making her tremble. “It’s not fair,” she gasped out, face crumpling. She threw her arms around Joyce and Joyce held on tightly as El wept.

**-:-**

The night before it happens, El was watching over Billy’s shoulder as he dumped pasta in boiling water. “Weird,” she observed.

Billy smirked, glancing sideways. “You’ll like this, kid. Spaghetti aglio e olio—it was my mom’s favorite.”

“Olio?”

“It’s Italian.” Billy paused, eyes narrowing. “Shouldn’t you be going to school?”

El shrugged and leaned against the counter. “Can’t. I technically don’t exist.”

“You’re gonna live with Joyce forever, then? Not do anything for yourself?”

El frowned deeply. “Myself?”

“Yeah, yourself. World’s not ending anymore. No one’s chasing you. What do you want to do now?”

El blinked, when a sudden sharp pain shot through her, going squarely to her brain. El gasped and clutched her head.

Billy looked over, alarmed. “Hey, kid, I didn’t mean to make you upset. Relax.”

El doubled over, groaning. The pain intensified—and then she saw it.

Cold. Wet. Flags rippling in the wind, and a loud anthem in the air.

The vision ended and the pain stopped. El opened her eyes, hands lowering from her head. A newfound sensation coursed through her, one that was electric and familiar.

“… said are you okay?”

El looked up at Billy, seeing the concern in his eyes. Slowly, she turned her gaze to the empty soda can on the counter and narrowed her eyes.

The can crumpled on itself.

Billy’s mouth parted in surprise. “Bitchin’,” said El, looking amazed.

**-:-**

The day it happens, Joyce was watching El like a hawk.

“You’re staring,” said El lightly, tearing off a chunk of waffle.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Joyce demanded, gaze flickering over her worriedly. “Is your head still hurting?”

“Yes, and no.” El took another bite. “Just the once.”

Joyce chewed her thumbnail, thinking. “What do you think did it?”

El shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe the bathroom?”

“Maybe.” Joyce watched El carefully. “And the vision?”

Carefully, El set down her waffle. Her eyes connected with Joyce’s. “I don’t know. It was…new.”

“New as in—what?”

El shook her head. “I don’t get…visions. Just the blindfold. Finding people. I didn’t look for anyone when this happened.”

Joyce’s worry deepened. Forcing a smile, she patted El’s head and stood from the table. “I’m sure it was nothing. When you’re done with that, we’ll head out to get you some new clothes.”

El’s entire face brightened, and she started shoveling the waffle in her mouth.

What did this all mean? El’s power suddenly returning, the cryptic vision of music and snow—could it be the gate? Were her powers connected to it now, somehow? Joyce idly scrubbed her plate when a sudden clatter from behind caught her attention.

“El?” Joyce’s eyes widened when she saw El doubled over, plate on the floor, her forehead pressed to her knees. “El!” Joyce rushed over and took El’s head in her hands. “Talk to me, what’s happening?”

“H-hurts,” El gasped, her eyes squeezed shut. “I see—I see—” She cringed further, fist knocking against her head. “Blue. A s…statue. Tall. Crown. She’s h-holding a—light.”

Joyce frowned, eyebrows knitting together. “What—is that the statue of liberty?”

**-:-**

“Not here, you dumb fucker,” Hopper hissed at the squealing Demogorgon. “I _told_ you where to take us. This is fucking New York. Do it again!” The Demogorgon looked up balefully with another shriek, and Hopper wrapped his arm tighter around its neck. “I said GO.”

A portal opened before them, and they winked out of existence.

**-:-**

“This is different,” El kept repeating as she clutched her hair, “my power, it’s different.”

“What’s going on?” Jonathan and a bleary-eyed Will entered the kitchen. Billy moved behind them, hair still dripping from a shower. “Whoa. Is she okay?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know what’s happening,” said Joyce frantically, rubbing El’s back. “Something’s hurting her.”

Suddenly, El inhaled a sharp gasp. Her body stilled, and Joyce’s hand paused along El’s back. “El?” Joyce said softly, throwing a worried glance at Jonathan.

El’s eyes flew open with a crazed look. “Here,” she said to the empy air. “Here! Here, here, here! HERE!”

Before another word could be spoken, a blinding flash of light filled the kitchen before disappearing—and in its place was Hopper, his arms wound tightly around a struggling Demogorgon.

“Shit!” Jonathan cursed, jumping back. Billy had gone pale.

El jumped from her chair, sending it clattering to the floor. With a flick of her hand she dragged the Demogorgon away, levitating it higher as it writhed and shrieked.

“El,” said Will, concern coloring his voice, “I don’t think you should…you only just got your powers back.”

El stared at the flailing Demogorgon, fingers ready to close, when a shot burst through its face and straight through the back of its petaled head. El startled, her hold loosening, and the Demogorgon dropped dead on the floor.

Joyce stood beside her, hefting a double-barreled shotgun that was smoking at the end.

With a groan, Hopper picked himself up off the floor. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on El. A look of relief overcame him. “Hey,” he said, his voice rough and gravelly. “So. What I miss?”


End file.
